A Past Revealed
by kcharrypotterfan
Summary: Harry's past finally surfaces, but at a cost. CAUTION. Contains abuse, rape, suicide, self-mutilation. NOTE- I am NOT J.K. Rowling and I do not in anyway take credit for her amazing work
1. Fear And Guilt

My first try at this stuff.probably won't be very good  
  
Chapter 1: Fear and Guilt  
  
The black darkness closed in on the young boy, curled into a ball on his shabby bed, wrapped tightly in a thin, ragged sheet. The air was suffocating, gasping for breath the boy shivered, unwilling to remove his only security. Every creak of the house, every breath of the wind caused another series of trembling whimpers. Faint, at first, then louder, the heavy, deliberate footsteps approached his room. With little difficulty, the heavy wood door swung open and a thin beam of light was cast through the dark, illuminating the huddled figure. A raspy breath and thick, drunken whisper filled the room. "Harry honey. Come out come out wherever you are. Uncle Vernon is here to claim his dues." Closing his eyes tighter, the boy held his breath. He felt a soft, large hand grab at the sheet and tear it away. Beginning to plead softly, he lay perfectly still, limbs shaking as he felt the too large nightclothes being torn off his body, then a sudden heavy weight of a body on his chest. "No noise, boy, remember? This is our little secret."  
  
Sitting bolt upright in bed, Harry Potter gasped for breath, brushed the damp, wayward locks of black hair out of his eyes and felt his shirt- the sweat had soaked both him and the bed. The darkness from his mind was gone, in fact, the bright, golden sunshine slipped through the dust-cloaked window, and the morning noise of the family awakening could be heard from the hall. Drawing his knees to his chest, he wrapped himself into a ball, head hidden as he unconsciously rocked, trying to gain his breath back. It took a few moments before he had regained enough control to slowly stand up, legs stiff from a night spent curled in a tight ball, and begin to get dressed. A shrill call from downstairs announced that, for once his presence was missed,  
  
"HARRY!!!! My god BOY WHAT IS TAKING YOU SO LONG?!! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT, IT IS YOUR JOB TO GET VERNON AND DUDLEY'S BREAKFAST READY AND IT IS EXPECTED ON TIME!"  
  
Harry quickly finished combing his hair and rinsing his face with cold water. Stumbling down the hall, he almost fell as his cousin, Dudley, walked out of his room and stuck his fat leg out in front of him. It took all of Harry's balance to stay on his feet, and Dudley's laughter followed him down the stairs into the kitchen. His Aunt Petunia stood in front of the stove, arms crossed and a frown plastered on her thin lips. She tapped her foot impatiently as Harry pulled the bacon and eggs out of the refrigerator and began to prepare breakfast.  
  
"Ungrateful child, here we are sharing our home, food, and clothing with you, a FREAK, and you can't even be grateful enough to help out once in a while? All that is asked is that you cook breakfast for Vernon and my Duddykins, both need a good helping get the, through the day and you can't even do that much."  
  
Harry sighed, mumbling apologies. It was no use trying to argue- he was always wrong. Thumping down the stairs was Vernon, Harry's uncle. He took one look at Harry and menaced,  
  
"Has he done anything wrong again Petunia my dear? Don't worry, I'll deal with the boy."  
  
A threatening look caused Harry to back away slowly, busying himself with setting the table and pouring tea and juice for the family. His shoulder still had a green-yellow bruise on it from the last time Vernon had dealt with him, and it was not in Harry's interest to give his uncle another reason to do so. Not that Uncle Vernon needed a reason. It was his favorite pastime to come up with further excuses on why Harry needed to be taught another lesson.  
  
At least school starts next week, Harry thought to himself, then I can get away. Just one more week.  
  
Having gotten through the morning with nothing more than the usual threats, Harry flopped down on the lawn outside after his uncle had left for work and Dudley had gone to find his friends. The warm sun caught and brightened the green in his eyes, and he leaned his head back against the soft grass of the Dursley's impeccable lawn. Almost unconsciously he fingered the scar on his forehead, the only real reminder he had of who he was. He wasn't just Harry, orphaned boy the kind aunt and uncle raised and took care of, parents having died in a car accident. He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the only one to defeat Lord Voldemort, hero of the Wizarding world. Not here. Not on sunny little Privet Drive, where everyone lived in their own, dense world. For his whole life, Harry had wanted that escape. Now he wasn't so sure he did. A sudden wave of guilt caused his breath to catch. Who was he kidding? He wasn't a good friend. He had gotten Cedric killed- Cedric who had never done anything wrong, Cedric whom everyone loved. And Harry had as good as killed him. Harry, the boy who endangered everyone and anyone associated with him, who had killed his Sirius Black, the only person Harry had ever wanted to live with, the only person Harry had counted as family. Putting Ron and Hermione in danger countless times was more than enough, but then he had gone and murdered the only adult Harry believed cared about him.  
  
Maybe what Uncle Vernon says is true, maybe I am just a bad, ungrateful brat who is greedy and selfish and cold. I deserve to be hit, to be hurt. They punish me because it is best for me, because I am a bad kid, because I don't deserve anything good in life. People know me by something that I can't even remember, that I did by no skill at all, and I shouldn't be credited for something like that.  
  
Harry closed his eyes to control his breathing, which had grown loud and angry through his unspoken rant. The image from that night was immediately conjured back into his mind, and that was the breaking point. Eyes flying open, the warm green had turned to stone, intent and focused. His right hand slipped to the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small needle, the cold, silver steel warming in his hand. He drew his thumb across the top, putting some pressure, and pulled his hand back to observe the smooth cut, blood welling to just under the surface of the skin. He smiled to himself and moved back behind the bushes, where a neighbor couldn't see, and rolled up his sleeve. His thin, pale upper arm housed at least fifteen other cuts in different stages of healing, all perfectly straight, running both horizontally and vertically. One, further down toward his elbow, was a violent slash, still a red scab running diagonally across the width of his arm. Harry hadn't caused that one. Ignoring the other cuts, Harry carefully selected a spot close to his shoulder and very lightly drew the needle across his skin. It didn't break the skin, but that wasn't Harry's intention. The pain lasted longer if he was slow, if he dug the needle only a little further each time. His mind bathed in the distraction, soothed by the rhythm and familiarity of the motion. Falling into a daze, Harry leaned back against he house, drawing his hand back and forth, allowing the blood to slowly appear and well out from his skin, a brilliant red seeping from his body. With the blood went the fear, the pain, and the past. 


	2. A Letter Of Hope

Chapter 2: A Letter of Hope  
  
It was later that afternoon that Harry shook himself awake. His head had fallen against a bush and the indentations of a branch marred and creased the back of his neck. His left arm was stiff, the sleeve had fallen back down. He rolled it up to look at his handiwork. Blood had dried against his arm, and it was a good thing he was wearing a black shirt because it was clear some had stained the inside of his sleeve. The cut itself had gone fairly deep, the needle, which Harry found in his lap, was almost halfway coated in dried blood. Smiling to himself, Harry stood up and brushed the dirt and leaves off of his back and legs. He slipped through the door and hurried up to the bathroom, where he slowly washed the blood off of his arm. The warm water caused the cut to start bleeding again, and Harry used a tissue to stop the bleeding as he almost lovingly caressed and cleaned the needle. Hurrying back to his room, he tore the bloodied tissue up into small pieces and threw them in the trash. Just as he was finishing up, he heard the soft flutter of wings outside his window. Opening it, his snowy owl, Hedwig, fluttered into the room. Harry's sleeve, still partially rolled up, revealed the tail end of the cut. The owl glared at Harry and tugged viciously at his sleeve, covering the new cut. She wasn't too careful either, and her beak caught on his skin.  
  
"I know, I know, I'm sorry Hedwig. But you don't understand, I know it's bad but it's something I have to do. Now what is that?"  
  
Harry reached for a letter attached to Hedwig's leg, but the owl shook him off. It was clear that he was going to have to play on her terms. He sighed and sat down on the bed. Hedwig hopped up onto the window sill and started chattering at him in what could only be a reprimand. Harry began to feel ashamed. He hated the cutting- it made him weak. But it took so much else away, so much of the pain in living. The scars on his arms, legs, and hips would heal. The ones in his mind never would. Burying his head in his hands, Harry tried to calm himself down before he started crying. A soft weight on his knee and he fumbled to pull Hedwig closer, the bird didn't resist, strangely aware of Harry's need for comfort. After Harry sat up, the owl offered up her leg. Harry pulled the small parchment off and read the familiar handwriting.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
How are things with the Muggles? Mum and Dad have invited Bill and Charlie back home for the three days before we leave for Hogwarts. They said you could come over early- maybe tomorrow? Hermione is already here, her parents went on vacation and you know Hermione, she wanted to study instead. I'll never understand her. Oh, forgot to tell you, we're going to Diagon Alley as well to get school supplies. Write back soon! If you can come, we'll be there at 11:00 tomorrow morning so be ready!  
  
Your friend,  
  
Ron Weasley  
  
Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry put the letter down. Running downstairs, he found his aunt busy doing the wash. The instant he told her he had been invited to Ron's, a mixture of disgust and pleasure crossed her face.  
  
"Another wizard?? Well I suppose it will keep you out of Dudley's hair, the poor baby is so nervous about starting school. Fine, you may go. In fact, the sooner the better- we have guests tomorrow night anyway."  
  
A faint smile cracked on Harry's face as he repeatedly thanked his aunt, who hid an embarrassed grin behind an annoyed look.  
  
"Go boy! If you expect to go on this little trip, I expect some chores to get done. Now, I want you to sweep the front steps, weed the flower garden, dust the pictures of my Dudley- now be careful if you break one deal's off, you hear me? Oh, and don't forget."  
  
Harry barely heard her, and he nodded agreeably to her demands, lost in a happy daze. Just tonight! That wasn't enough time for Uncle Vernon to do anything, especially if Harry would be around friends the next day. As far as Ron and Hermione knew, his aunt and uncle, although annoying and rude, were at least kind and never hurt him. If only they knew. Harry shook his head defiantly. He could take anything that was thrown at him. He had to. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was already past dinnertime, and although Dudley had come home dirty but in an overall good mood. Harry knew what that meant- some neighborhood kid was sporting a few new bruises. He tried to stay out of his cousin's way- when Dudley was happy, he picked on Harry more. But Aunt Petunia was worried. Uncle Vernon still hadn't shown up, and he was never late for dinner. She paced the hallway anxiously, murmuring to herself. Dudley put on a facetiously worried expression, patting his mother's back and offering reassurances. Trying to stay out of the way, Harry tried to busy himself packing for Ron's , but he couldn't concentrate. It wasn't like Uncle Vernon to be late- but when he was, it usually meant that he had been drinking. An involuntary shiver coursed down Harry's spine, and he almost dropped the black robe he was folding.  
  
The creak of a door opening, and Aunt Petunia's reprimanding but relieved exclamations let it be known that his uncle was home. Harry listened carefully and was able to make out the distinct slurring of words as Uncle Vernon made his excuses for being late. The distinct sound of heavy footsteps sounded as his uncle made his way upstairs. Harry threw the robe into the trunk and hid, crouched behind his desk. The door to his room opened, and Harry watched as his uncle, red-eyed and smelling strongly of alcohol, stumbled through the room.  
  
"Harry boy I can see you. There's no point in trying to hide. I hear you're leaving for one of the freak's homes soon? Good, the sooner the better. I'll just have to leave you something to remember me by." 


	3. Run Away

Not my characters. My sick, twisted ideas, maybe but not my characters.  
  
Chapter 3: Harry was quiet and distant while waiting for the Weasley's to pick him up. He was sensitive to any noise, any quick movement, and his body pulsed. He could feel each new bruise on his torso and thighs, each throbbing cut on his arm, aching down through his fingertips. Pain coursed in hot fire throughout his body, his head pounding and chest rasping with each intake of breath. The sharp stab in his side increased his fears of a cracked rib, but he couldn't show the pain. His aunt was somewhere rattling at pots and pans, Dudley long since gone out with his friends. All he wanted was out, out of the house, out of the neighborhood, out of life. He slipped his hands to the inside of the light rain jacket he wore and felt the metal blade, safely tucked into a pocket he had cut and sewn in. His fingers itched to feel the cold metal in his hand, against his skin, and it took all the restraint he had to keep back. Harry could be patient when need be. A crack from the living room told Harry how the Weasley's were arriving- Floo powder. He raced through the kitchen to find an ash-gray Mrs. Weasley coughing, gray powder billowing off her body as she dusted herself off. "Ready Harry dear?" She smiled brightly, eyes twinkling as she held out her hand, revealing a canvas bag filled with more of the floo powder. Grabbing his bag, Harry took a handful of the soft material and followed Mrs. Weasley's suit, clearly stating, 'Diagon Alley' as he was encased in a green flame. He clearly remembered his first encounter with the wizard's transportation device, where he ended up in the wrong destination. It was only through a lucky meeting with Hagrid that Harry had found his way out. Since then, it had always been with caution that Harry used floo powder. Luckily, Harry emerged seconds later, shaking ash out of his black hair, in front of his friend, Ron Weasley, who heartily patted him on the back, sending up clouds of gray smoke. "Oh, sorry about that Harry. It's just been so boring without you around all bloody summer. Mum's been driving me nuts, it's really just me and Ginny there now since the twins left, until Hermione showed up last weekend. Have you got your supply list? Hermione's already gone ahead- wanted to take a look around before she started shopping. Probably to look at some more bloody books, did you know she brought four, four with her to our house? She was only there a week!" Harry laughed, interrupting Ron's tirade. "Come on, Ron, we don't want to fall behind. Besides, you and Hermione will have plenty of time to catch up, but we need to get to Gringott's first." Taking off, Harry ran through the street, leaving a surprised Ron struggling to catch up. Despite his friend's protests and calls to slow down, Harry continued on. With each pounding footstep tearing open the cuts on his thighs, with each breath that shook his ribcage with pain, causing tears to spring to his eyes, Harry was leaving the Dursley's behind. A step forward meant a step away, a step away from life, from the fear and hurt that had become normalcy. With each step, Harry could weave himself a fabricated tale around his wizard life, a tale in which the truth never appeared. But, a nagging voice repeated from the back of his head, you can't run forever. 


	4. Questions WIthout Answers

God I hate school projects. But not horse shows. Those were fun! Sorry it's taken so long  
  
Chapter 4: Questions Without Answers  
  
"Harry! Harry, wake up!" The black-haired teenager sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. Finally able to focus, Harry stared blearily at the boy in front of him, his head swimming in dizziness for a moment before he could fully concentrate. "What, Ron? It's too early." Harry made to curl back up and snuggle under the warm covers when he felt hands grasping at his shoulders. The sudden touch made him sit bolt upright, and it took all of his willpower not to shrink back from Ron's hands. Relieved to find his friend didn't think his reaction, odd, Harry pulled himself out of bed, trying to mask the fact that he was shaking. Calm down, idiot! He told himself sharply. This is Ron, just Ron. Still lost in his internal reprimand, he headed in front of Ron for the stairs, not even hearing Ron's voice. He caught Harry just before going down the first step.  
  
"Hey, Harry! Going deaf? I've been yelling at you to stop. Well, here, you can't go downstairs yet, mum said to keep you alone so you have to wait, hmm, oh just stay here for a few minutes. Ron opened a closet door and before Harry could protest, pushed him inside, slamming the only escape route shut. The sudden dark made Harry sink to his knees, rocking, the dizziness he had just shaken away came back in an acute wave. His breathing quickened, his heart pounding and a sudden roaring in his ears made him gasp, his lungs searching for air that wasn't there. "Please, Ron! Ron? God let me out!"  
  
Harry tried to scream, tried to pound on the door, but only hoarse whispers escaped his suddenly dry lips, and he didn't trust his balance enough to reach out the few inches needed. Instead he curled on the floor, lost in memories. He felt over and over the weight of fists and belts pelting at his head, his sides, his stomach. The weight of his uncle's body pressing down on him, an unseen force that hurt, hurt more than anything he had ever done to himself. Without noticing, his nails dug into the palm of his hand, finally puncturing through skin and allowing blood to slowly seep through and stain his cuticles a crimson pink. Sweat stung his scar and dripped into his eyes, blinding him further against the invisible man who would not let him go.  
  
The tears that had refused to come for all those years, that he had forbidden to come, now fell in a silent torrent, mixing with sweat into a salty river that fell across his cheek and dripped down his lips. His breath came in harsh, ragged gasps, muffled in the various garments hanging in the closet. Bringing his arms in to his chest, he could smell the coppery tint of blood and mechanically brought his palm across the inside hem of his shirt, wiping the red stain off his hand. Suddenly he paused, straining. Someone was approaching! He quickly tried to wipe the tears away, but it was too late. The door opened and a burst of light revealed Harry's fear and pain. Ron took one look at Harry, his large eyes widening under a shock of brilliant red hair. "Mum? Come here, quick. Something's wrong with Harry!"  
  
In an instant, Mrs. Weasley had shooed Ron away from the door and knelt down in front of Harry. Slowly she raised her hand, and unconsciously, Harry jerked back. "Harry, boy, it's okay. Whatever happened, it's okay. Come here." She inched her hand forward, until it brushed Harry's sweat-soaked forehead. Putting her hand around the back of his head, she pulled him close, into a tight embrace.  
  
Surprised at the sudden contact, Harry tried to pull back, but somehow his efforts seemed only half-hearted. The comfort of Mrs. Weasley's arms far surpassed any comfort he could offer himself and, for the first time he could remember, Harry allowed himself to be weak, to lean his head against her soft shoulder, to trust his trembling body to another person. Suddenly he was tired, so tired. He could hear voices...something about Sirius, something about a Lily...Dumbeldore...Professor Snape...Lily? It took Harry longer than usual to recognize the mention of his mother's name, but at the moment all he could think about was sleep. Forcing his eyes open, Harry struggled again against the embrace, managing to pull away, although unable to meet the kind woman's eyes. A quick glance at Ron made him even more embarrassed. Not only did his friend seem confused and worried, but a trace of sympathy flickered in his eyes for the brief moment that their gazes locked. Harry gritted his teeth together. Sympathy. He thought, "I don't deserve any sympathy." Averting his eyes, Harry mumbled an apology and the half-hearted excuse of finding Hedwig to take a walk. Turning quickly, he almost fell down the stairs before he caught himself. He heard Ron try to follow, and Mrs. Weasley's voice calling her son back. With an almost desperate lunge, he stumbled out the door and into the warm air. His hair stuck in damp clumps against the back of his neck and forehead as he hurried away, tripping over his own feet in his haste.  
  
He had thought he was safe here, that his uncle could never penetrate into this other side of Harry, this untouchable, revered Harry Potter. If only they knew. Their champion Potter, defeated Voldemort as a baby and can't even stand up against his own uncle. A muggle uncle no less! A failure, a disappointment. That was all he was. Why did life have to keep reminding him of that?  
  
He just wanted to get away. Was that really so much to ask? 


	5. Suspicions and Lies

Chapter 5: Suspicions and Lies  
  
The cool air slowly calmed Harry's strung nerves as he aimlessly wandered the fields and woods surrounding the Weasley's property. By the time he had circled back around to the house it was with shame that is footsteps had slowed to a dull shuffle. He had shown them weakness! Fear! How could he face them again? They would almost certainly question his earlier behavior- and there was no suitable lie to explain it all away. But he couldn't just leave- not now, after having left so abruptly, so rudely. The Weasley family had been so kind to him- he owned them at least some sort of explanation, even though the never demanded anything of him. Why they didn't take what he owed them the same way Uncle Vernon always he did he could not understand, but he was glad for it all the same. This double life, double standard confused him to no end. His aunt and uncle loved him, that's what Uncle Vernon always said. They had only tried to protect him by not telling him his true identity, they had taken him in when he was just a baby, even though his aunt at least knew the danger he presented, he had been fed and clothed and housed, at least enough to survive. What else could he expect? He had no right, no reason, to complain.  
  
The door to the Weasley's house was slightly ajar, and a gentle push widened the gap enough for Harry to slip his slight frame through. The house was strangely silent, devoid of the usually boisterous activity that marked the Weasley family. A slight murmur drew him to the family room, the flickering light pulling him closer. Peering around the corner, he froze. A small congregation gathered by the fireplace quieted its hushed discussion as Harry's presence was noticed. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, even Bill. An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, Harry shifting anxiously, any reserves to tell the truth about what had happened rapidly evaporating as he was somehow unable to back away. Ron finally broke the silence, shifting uncomfortably.  
  
"I'm sorry Harry. I didn't mean to scare you like that. See, mom was making you a surprise cake for a party for us all going back to school and since you were the only one who still didn't know she wanted it to be a surprise and Bill and Charlie are only here for a few days and wanted to celebrate with us even though we don't go back to school for awhile yet and I forgot all about it and I just thought it would be funny, you know, to shut you in the closet-"  
  
"Ron," Harry interrupted. "It's okay. Really. I'm just...just a little claustrophobic is all. And I got scared. I didn't mean to freak like that." I'm lying, he added silently. God I can't tell you but please know that I'm lying. Forcing a fake smile onto his face, Harry tried his best to be convincing while his heart sank as their faces slowly lost their concern. Ron and Hermione were the only ones who still looked at him with any suspicion, but they hesitated to speak up.  
  
"Okay guys, I'm a bit tired. Would it be all right if I went upstairs and took a nap? It's been a long day." At that moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to be alone. With the Weasley's he had hoped to find refuge, not only from his uncle, but from himself as well. Now it seemed hopeless- if, even here with people he honestly felt cared about him, he still wanted to hurt himself—kill himself—then he would never get better. There was no point. The cutting kept him from taking it too far, as long as he did not do so while he was angry. It kept it manageable, for the most part. And right now, Harry needed that control. He had come so close to telling...what kind of ungrateful brat was he? After all they had done for him...he almost gave them up! Uncle Vernon was right, he deserved every hit he received, in fact, his foster family was merciful for not punishing him more.  
  
Without waiting for much of an answer, Harry turned and hurried up the stairs. His heart sank as he heard footsteps behind him- the clumping of heavy boots sounding Ron's presence muffling the quicker, lighter steps of Hermione. Harry sighed. He would have to be careful- his friends knew him better than the rest of the Weasleys and were more apt to spot a lie. Hurrying into his room, Harry had the door half shut before Ron pushed it open. He and Hermione stood at the entrance, looking at Harry reproachfully.  
  
"You lied," Ron state flatly, getting straight to the point. "You lied when you said you were fine." Hermione glared at her red-headed friend and sat down on the floor, pulling Harry and Ron down with her.  
  
"Ron's right, Harry. You were not being honest with the Weasleys. It's not that hard to tell, you know. When you lie you get this distant look in your eyes. Anyway, Harry, you can tell us. We're friends, right?" Harry glanced at her and sighed. He didn't want to hurt her feelings- but he couldn't tell her the truth.  
  
"Of course we're friends Hermione. I'm just a little tired is all. Really, there's nothing wrong. Like I said, I want to take a nap. Can you guys just please leave me alone now?"  
  
Hermione looked at him suspiciously. Suddenly, She leaned across the gap, hand raised and brought her arm down sharply toward his head. Unconsciously, Harry dropped, covering his head and curling his body around itself. There was no contact. Harry looked up, Hermione's hand now lay in her lap. She looked at him, knowingly.  
  
"Harry, stop it. Please. Who hurt you?" Her voice was soft and quiet, never accusing. Harry wanted to trust her, wanted to tell everything that happened. Every part of his body screamed at his throat to work, to tell how much it hurt, how scared he was. But he couldn't. His eyes stared up at his friend pleadingly. He wanted her to just know, what use was it being a witch unless you could read minds? Slowly, ever so slowly, she reached out to him. Closing his eyes, Harry willed himself not to pull away, not to cringe as her finger brushed the top of his head.  
  
His voice cracking, Harry finally spoke, "I'm so sorry. But I can't. I just...can't. Ron...Hermione...I'm so sorry guys. I don't mean to be bad like this. I don't mean to hurt you too. Please forgive me." Pulling himself to his feet, Harry jerked away from Hermione. Ron grabbed at his shirt hem in protest, and Harry leapt backwards, shoving Ron's hand away.  
  
"Go okay? You don't know what you guys are talking about! Just leave me the hell alone!" 


End file.
